Wednesday, December 21, 2016

Times of Darkness

I love the psalms. I love them because they give words to all the feelings we have: all, including that which we often think we should not share with God. There is anger, there is despair, there is sadness; as well as praise and thanksgiving and joy and delight. There is envy and frustration, feelings of abandonment; as well as celebration of life and all of its gifts, triumph, trust, and victory.
I am part of a spiritual journeys group that meets once a month for 4 1/2 hours or so and that is practicing different spiritual disciplines each month. This month we looked in particular at psalms of lament. Every week we were to pick a different psalm of lament and each day we read through it, listening for where God is and what speaks to us in that particular reading. I love Psalm 22 for many reasons, not least of which is that I think many of us can resonate so strongly in times of despair with much of what the psalmist wrote, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest." If we are honest with ourselves, all of us have felt this at one time or another. I also love it because Jesus quoted that first line from the cross. Christ, too, knows what it is like to feel that despair, that pain. I find great comfort in that, in the idea that we are understood for all of who we are and all of what we feel.
But this last week I focused on a different psalm. I chose Psalm 88, which doesn't resolve as most of the other psalms of lament do. There is no "it's okay" at the end, or even praise of God to set us back on our feet. It ends in the dark. It ends still in the despair. It ends in anguish and sorrow.
I know there is a theological position that states that we should never leave our people in that darkness, that we must always shine a light to lead them out of that place. But I do not and cannot agree with that. For one thing it does not acknowledge that there simply ARE times of despair for all of us, that there are times when we cannot find the light. To acknowledge that and to honor those feelings is to really see people and to be with them even in that darkness. When we try to rush people too quickly out of their pain and anguish, we do not give them the space to fully grieve and therefore to truly heal.
To be fully human means to experience the darkness as well as the light, to be willing to learn the lessons and accept the gifts that sorrow can bring to each of us. These aren't easy lessons to learn and I understand not wanting to be in the pain which alone can lead us to these deeper understandings. But without that willingness to be in the dark for a while, the light's brightness can never be fully understood, experienced, or appreciated for the gift it brings. Without that commitment to walking through the despair, we cheapen life in all its wondrous variety. Without sinking into the desolation and suffering for a time, the pain cannot be completely released, and we will not be set free to experience joy with fullness.
We were encouraged to write our own psalms of lament during this time as well. I am aware that, to quote Hildegard de Bingen, "My greatest disobedience is my self-doubt". I also want to remind you that a psalm of lament is a glimpse, a moment. It is not the totality of our beliefs or even an accurate reflection of our faith. It is a snapshot on the pain we are feeling at the moment (so please don't send me a message "correcting" my theology on this. Again, this is a reflection of the feelings I had in a moment). With all those caveats, I am choosing to share with you my psalm of lament in the hopes that it might resonate with some of you as well:

I hear you
calling, God

I hear it
constantly,

This call

To do more

To be more

Than I am.

You call me
through the Prophets’ words

Of preaching
good news to the poor

Lifting up
the downtrodden

And healing
the broken hearted.

You call me
through the words

Of Jesus as
he begs and demands and insists

That our
call is to feed the hungry

And clothe
the naked

And visit
those in prison

And who are
sick.

You call me
through our modern prophets

Who speak of
the need

To advocate
for the voiceless,

To fight the
powers that would hold down

Any of our
sisters and brothers,

To stand up
with those who are threatened.

And you call
me through the pain I feel

At the
suffering of others,

And at the
destruction of the environment.

At the cutting
down of the trees

And at the
anger, bigotry, misogyny, homophobia,

Hatred.

That cuts me
like it was my own skin being torn to shreds.

You call me
through all these things.

But I’m all
too aware that I fall short

I don’t do
enough

I’m not
enough.

And in my failing, God, I feel your absence.

I feel your tangible disappointment in me:

Not only what I have done

And what I have failed to do,

But also in who I am.

I call to you

Day and night

To release me from this torment

Of self-doubt and judgment

I ask every day for you to help me

Let go of my own ego

That keeps me more focused

On my failings

Than on doing what is there to be done

In each day

In each moment.

I beg and plead of you

To help me see where to put my next step

And to let me be a vessel

Of your will

And your way:

Your grace, love and compassion

To a hurting world.

But what I hear is silence.

What I get is absence.

What I experience is a turning of your back

With sad eyes.

A walking away.

A giving up

On me.

Don’t turn away from me!

Be there to give me the words

And the actions

And the vision

That I need.

Do not leave me

To fight my own inner demons

Of judgment and anxiety

By myself.

God, I beg you to return

And guide me on this dark

And difficult journey,

To help me get the “me”

Out of my laments

And to focus instead

Always and all the time

On the You

That is the person in front of me at any moment

As well as the God beyond us all.

If this resonates with you, I hope you will try writing your own psalm of lament. Finally, I want to end by encouraging you to listen to Amy Grant's song, "Better than a Hallelujah". Beautiful. Her own psalm (which means "song") of Lament. Click here to hear it: Lament

About Me

I am a pastor, musician and writer who is passionate about social justice, and who loves liturgical arts. I strive in all things to walk this journey with peace, grace and compassion. I'm a person "on the way" which means I don't always get it right. But I hope you can find compassion and forgiveness towards me when I err, just as I will do my best to see and honor your best side in all that you do and are.